It had been a great deal of time since he had last been in Relic Lore, since his reluctant departure from Bramble Falls. The water had been disappearing, inexplicably but undeniably, and there was no future to be had in a dry land. Having no attachments, it was easy to leave, and he had survived easily because of it. He had heard that Relic Lore was no longer thirsty, and it called to him. The memory of a few souls here danced in the back of his mind, pleasant memories. The world was covered in fools, and here no less - but there were a few gems here, a few beasts who Marsh fancied he understood.
One such soul sat heavy in the fore of his mind, his nose recalling the scent perfectly. Marsh had not spent much time in the south west of Relic Lore, though he knew of this pack. Their leader had left a favourable impression, certainly. He had just been a little too young at the time, a little too fresh at his game, and Marsh was not inclined to attach himself to the boy. Not permanently, at least.
The winter was hard, and demanding all of the wolf's skills and effort to endure it; it was tiring. He did not want to beg, for that was highly unbecoming, but he did not want to endure the rest alone. There were no ideal, immediate solutions, but he did have a few options.
It was prideful to believe yourself capable beyond your true limits. Marsh did not approve of pride.
The borders of Swift River, though faint on his nose due to his distance from them, were compelling enough to be considered for his first attempt. He had encountered sense here, once before. Loping at a steady pace, the heavy-set beast continued onwards, ever wary for that moment when the boundary between packland and neutral lands became overpowering. At that point, unless confronted earlier, he would stop. He would not call, for he had no right to do so - but any pack with competent scouts would not leave an outsider at their borders for long. He had faith that his presence would not go unnoticed.</blockquote>